


The Fire Inside

by Dryad



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU!Mary Morstan, BBC!John Watson, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8947705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: A night like no other...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sherlollyfan21](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlollyfan21/gifts).



~*~

Mary glanced up and over her shoulder, smiling. 

John closed the door behind himself, threw his gloves on the sofa "Hullo."

"How's Major Longacre?" she asked, putting her pen back into its stand. 

John shook his head. "Doesn't know when to stop with the chota peg. Just because it's small, doesn't mean you can have that many more. His stomach will recover once he stops drinking so much," John tossed his coat on the back of the sofa, then turned to her with raised eyebrows. "Not that you're to say a word of that to anyone."

"As if everyone doesn't already know," she chided.

"Be that as it may, I don't want anyone saying my beautiful wife has a loose tongue."

Mary opened her mouth to protest, thought better of it a moment later. 

"Did the mail come today?" asked John, shuffling through the tray full of envelopes on the side table.

"Nothing of importance. Notifications of intent to call."

"Still?"

"Still. I think Mrs. McCutcheon's coming down from Dhrumsala. She says she wants to see me, and do a grand bit of shopping as well."

John turned and put his hands on her waist, drawing her close. "I swear you have more friends in this town than I do."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck, muttered into his kiss. "Mm,that's because I'm prettier than you."

"Yes, well, that's true enough. And incredible in bed."

There was sure to be a day when she did not blush when he said such things...but today was not that day. Besides, he was pulling up her skirt - again. Given the amount of times he had done so, and always, _always_ in public, Mary had more than a hint that he really liked undressing her. She was beginning to like it, too. Standards, however. "John...one of the servants might come in."

He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "So?"

Clearly he was determined and Mary was mostly inclined to let him have his way. 

"I'll invite Captain Drummond over, Sergeant Winterson too, and share you like they asked," John murmured into her ear, squeezing her arse.

Mary shook her head, horrified by the prospect. "No, no - "

"I'll sit in the chair and watch as they take turns fucking you," he whispered.

G-d help her, she could see it, the way he would smile, watching while she was helpless at the hands of two lesser men. Shamefully, she whimpered, which in turn made him press up against her. "John - "

He dropped to his knees of a sudden, reaching underneath her dress and sliding his hands up her legs. His eyes glittered when he looked up. "They might take these pretty pantalettes and tear them to pieces to get at you - "

Before Mary had a chance to tell him not to, she heard the rip of delicate fabric. 

There was a knock at the door. "Captain sahib?"

John was back on his feet in a heartbeat, stepping away from Mary while she whirled to sit back at her desk, her heart pounding for a multiple of reasons. There was nothing she could do apart from pretend nothing untoward had just been happening. Taking up her pen - her hand was shaking - she managed to dip it in the ink well and scrawl something unintelligible before stopping, as if she were thinking about what to write next. 

"Good morning, memsahib."

It was Tenzin, and she had to be pleasant to Tenzin even though she was ashamed to be seen by him in her state, because he was John's unofficial liaison and according to John, a very good man and an extremely capable officer and it was terrible that he wasn't treated with more respect by men who should know far better. "Good morning, Tenzin. I hope you are well?"

He bowed slightly and nodded, the gilt on the hat tucked under his arm glittering in the low light. He turned his attention to John. "Captain - " 

Tenzin leaned closer and spoke softly, pointedly not looking at Mary. She dutifully turned away, allowing them privacy. Soon enough they were done, and John was slipping on his jacket and gloves while following Tenzin into the hallway.

"I'm away," he said. "Give my regards to Mrs. McCutcheon."

"Goodbye!" she called, returning his half-hearted wave and failing to catch his attention. "Come back to me…"

~*~

Over the next week, Mary spent time with Mrs. Peabody, gossiped with Mrs. McCutcheon and received Miss Strivilyn and Miss Walsh, along with a host of the other great and good of Cawnpore. Since Mrs. Seymour's party, Mary had become one for whom people went to curry favour, even though she had only met Mrs. Seymour the once, and that only briefly. The connection between John and Mrs. Seymour was stronger, in all honesty. 

Summer was finally coming on, the heat starting earlier with each day, lingering a little longer into each night. It was exhausting, and only May. Mary took to the small veranda most days, bathed more frequently than she preferred, and ate lightly. Both she and John favored a mix of curry and English foods, for which she was grateful, because sometimes she just wanted bread and sweet butter and hot tea for a meal.

Finally a day arrived when she didn't have to leave the bungalow. She quite happily ensconced herself on the veranda with _Madame Bovary_ , which Miss Strivilyn was so graciously lending her, with the caveat that not all French women were so wicked. Mary was utterly intrigued by Emma Bovary. In fact it seemed to her that had Flora not been born to Uncle Frederick and Aunt Thomasine, she could have become quite like Emma. She admired Emma's intelligence, and her wit, and felt for her poor usage by so many men. Only half way through the book, and it was clear Emma was doomed.

When the eye strain became too much, Mary put a little slip of pink ribbon between the pages to mark her place, took another tepid bath using her favorite amber soap, and retired to her bed. She lay there for some time, thinking of Emma Bovary and her affairs, of the gentlemen who wanted her, and how she used them as equally as they used her. Mary would never be so bold herself, even if she was in the same situation. At least, she didn't think so…although…given what had happened with Uncle Frederick, her current situation could have ended much, much differently. Remembering how she and John met, she thought of the adventures they had had, and of what was to come, and drifted off to happy dreams.

Mary muzzily opened her eyes, remembered where she was, twisted to look over her shoulder. "John?"

He was irritated, she could tell by his too sharp movements while unbuttoning his shirt. A button pinged onto the floor and rolled under the bed.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

The candle-lamp she had left burning was hardly strong, just enough to make the room dim and cozy. Given that she had forgotten to pull the gauze mosquito curtain, the air around the bed was merely pleasant, rather than stuffy and close. 

Mary rolled onto her back, stretched, caught how John's eyes flicked over her body as the sheet slipped down, baring her breasts down to just above her nipples. He was unbuttoning his shirt, lips pursed, clearly annoyed, though at what, Mary wasn't sure. She rolled on to her front, pillowed her head on her hands and watched him undress. Finally, she spoke. "I'm glad you're home."

"Mm," he murmured, taking off his shirt, unbuckling his trousers. "Major Harville was insistent upon me being by his oh, never mind. Nothing you want to hear at this time of the night, or ever."

He slid in between the sheets, smelling of dust and horse, sweat and wool. Mary gazed at him steadily. He looked tired and frustrated and full of that peculiar energy one could have when one did not receive adequate exercise. "At least you're home, now."

He looked at her and smiled. "Yes, thank g-d. You said you missed me?"

She nodded, happy to be under his touch as he palmed her shoulder, then swept his hand down to her bum. "Incessantly."

"And what did you do whilst I was away?"

"Ate many lunches with many ladies. Miss Hodge and Colonel Hodge says hello, as does Mrs. Peabody."

John repeated his sweep and Mary closed her eyes. "I missed you," she repeated, trying to think of a subtle way to encourage him without having to speak up, for she was not yet skilled or confident in that with him, despite the not inconsiderable amount of time they spent together.

She wriggled a little bit more, because the bed was awfully comfortable and she was in that halfway stage where she could fall asleep, or wake up and do...something. "We never did finish our conversation from the other day."

John eyed her. He shifted onto one elbow, toyed with her hair, which she hadn't bothered to plait, assuming she was sleeping alone for yet another night. "Is that so?"

"Mm." Mary hummed, arching her back just a little.

His gaze followed the movement, and then he pulled the sheet away from her. "Shall we start again?"

"Maybe not from the beginning," she suggested, blinking slowly as he swept her from shoulder to thigh, his hand caressing her bum.

"Good," he said, moving over her entirely. "I hate repeating myself."

She couldn't quite manage to keep her snort inside, but he only kissed the side of her neck in response. She closed her eyes, happy to let him touch her in all the ways he wanted. After all, she was going to reap the benefit, too. He was fully on top of her now, mouthing the nape of top of her spine, the join of neck and shoulder, and she could feel how eager he was against her thigh. Still, his wetted fingers slid between her legs, stopped.

With a little sound of surprise, he probed further. And then, breathlessly, "You're so wet. Have you been playing with yourself, Mary?"

Mary's heart kicked up as she tucked her face against the pillow. "Yes, John."

"I can't hear you."

Face flaming with embarrassment, she laid her head on her other cheek, where he couldn't see through the fall of her hair. "Yes."

His breath was moist against her burning skin. "Tell me."

She found it difficult to speak with the way he was rhythmically thrusting against her backside. "I..."

"In the bath, maybe?"

She shook her head minutely.

"The garden?"

"No."

"Tell me where, then."

Obscurely ashamed, she covered her eyes. "Here...in the bed."

His voice a little rougher, now, his thumb moving inside of her, his shell-shaped fingers on the outside, making her press against him. "And did you use the mirror?"

"No, John," Because it had been too much, too distracting, and she didn't have enough hands. 

"I'm disappointed. The next time you have the urge, we'll use it together."

_Oh g-d_. The vision of it in her mind, of John standing behind her, fully clothed while she - while she - or maybe she was sitting on his lap, legs draped outside of his own and spread as wide as possible. 

A fragment of conversation came to her, and with it an image that should have been disgusting. "Mount me like an animal in the field, John, in the mirror -"

John was astride her in an instant, firmly pushing in without regard. By rights, it should have hurt, but she wanted it now just as much as he did. He took his weight off of her back and balanced on his hands.

"Get yourself off, I want to feel it," he whispered hoarsely. 

Mary got one hand under herself, moaned a little at the contact.

"Louder, you know I want to hear you."

Apart from the fine tremble in his legs and arms, John held still, grunting every time her fingers grazed his prick until she bucked up against him in her own pleasure, which in this position was hard to come by. He immediately withdrew and urged her over, only to dive down between her thighs and work her with his tongue. It was too soon, verging on painful although he was doing nothing unusual.

Within minutes he had to hold her hips down with his arms while she thrashed and cried out, gripping his hair and making sure he didn't stop what he was doing. As soon as she peaked he was moving up and inside, making her gasp with the suddenness of it. He kept close, hands firm under her shoulders, making sure she wasn't sliding up the bed. 

Unbelievably, she felt the tension rise in her belly again. She spread her legs as wide as they could go, jerking against him, chasing the abruptly less and less illusory pleasure. "John - _g-d_ \- yes, just like that, ju - oh - oh - _there!"_

_"G---d!"_ she wailed, digging her nails into his back, curling up and then slamming back onto the pillow, almost unable to breathe from the sheer force of feeling.

Mary was dead exhausted after, unable to do more than twitch and stare up at John's grimacing face. How could he not have reached his own peak yet? He was still hard, prick dark red and weeping at the tip. She barely had time to recover before he bodily rolled her over and entered her swift and sure. 

Mary cried out from the shock of it, for his strokes were heavy, thudding into her until she had to put her hands out to avoid being knocked face first into the carved wooden headboard.

Though she was tired, Mary pushed back at John, swiveling her hips as much as she was able. She was amply reward with a string of curses and then, a change to higher pitched 'huuu's before a frenzy of thrusts that ended with John stilling, silently and randomly jerking in to her. When he was done, he fell to the side, panting for breath and having full body twitches, much as Mary had done only a few minutes before.

They lay side by side, not touching, sweating heavily and, to Mary's mind, both somewhat in shock. Granted, they had only been together a few weeks, and while she had been fearful of the act that first night, John had proven to be a competent and careful lover, so she had little fear of him. Even so, something had been different this night. His words had been...genuine. Or honest, at the very least. She knew that if told him she didn't like something, they would never do it again, because that was the kind of man he was. Thus far...their passion had only seemed to grow.

The strength of it, the intensity of it, was a little frightening.

What was more, her ardor for him only increased. He had only to look at her and she was willing. The things he had asked of her...Mary bit her lip.

"Well, we should talk more often."

Mary huffed a laugh. She wiped her brow free of perspiration, contemplated getting up and having a wee. The sheets underneath her were filthy with sweat and the semen leaking out of her. 

"If we have a baby in January, I'll want it to be a girl," John said, staring at the canopy above. "A girl who looks just like you."

She glanced at him, then stared at the canopy too. "And I'll want a boy, a boy who looks just like you."

His smile was slight, his eyes already closing, but before he fell asleep completely, he reached down and drew the top sheet over them both.

~*~

Mary overslept. She generally liked to be up quite early, to catch the best of the cool weather, though that wasn't exactly saying a lot at this time of the year. When she eventually sat up, she stretched, yawned, and caught sight of movement out of the corner of her eye. For a moment she was startled before realizing it was her own reflection she had seen.

The mirror - her standing mirror - had been moved closer to the bed. Blinking hard at it, she couldn't believe the boldness of the man. After last night, he was already for her next lesson! She would have to beg a night's indulgence; she was a little sore. 

A good hour later, Mary was washed and dressed and ready to face what remained of the day. She was ravenous, and fell upon her brunch with barely a thought as to where John might be, so it took her until she had cleared a second plate of food to see the envelope propped up on the table. Hastily wiping her mouth, she reached over and slit it open with her unused fish knife.

_To my dearest wife, who fell from Providence Above into my arms ~_

_'Good G-d, what a night that was,_  
The bed was so soft, and how we clung,  
Burning together, lying this way and that,  
Our uncontrollable passions  
Flowing through our mouths.  
If I could only die that way,  
I'd say goodbye to the business of living.' 

_Petronius_

_Once again I am called away. I shall be in Meerut,and may not return for some time._

_Leave the mirror where it is, and send to me a token of your esteem, I beg of you._

_Yours,_

_Capt. J.H.Watson_

Mary crushed the letter to her chest as if it could soothe the pounding of her heart. He was - John was - she shook her head, her eyes flooding with tears. 

She was so lucky. So lucky. 

Giving herself another moment to wallow in the depths of her affection for him, she reread the letter, then rose and headed back to the bedroom. There was only one thing she could think to send him, and it wasn't going to be those torn pantalettes, which is what she suspected he wanted. No chance was any other member of the regiment going to see those. She waffled for some time, and in the end sent a lock of her hair, dosed with a dollop of amber paste and sewn into a small packet of cotton, threaded through with pink ribbon in the shape of a heart. It was extremely feminine…possibly more feminine than she really felt, but it felt right, and John would love it. At least he could show it off, unlike her pantalettes.

Her meal eaten, and with nothing else to do until joining Mrs. Peabody later that evening, Mary retrieved her copy of _Madame Bovary_ and retired to the veranda. The day was warm, but the breeze was strong, bringing with it the scent of cooking food, temple incense, rotting vegetation and beneath it all, the barest hint of distant ghats. Different from Palampur, and in many ways, so much better. Except for the heat, she could do without the heat.

All in all, she was satisfied with her lot in life. More than satisfied, she was happy, blissfully happy, in ways she could never have imagined before meeting John on that fateful night. Providence, indeed. May the G-ds keep him safe.

~*~  
End  
~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is part of the Dark Lamp series, and can be considered a followup to [Mommae](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7591630).
> 
> The poem by Petronius I snagged from one of the Everyman's Library book of...Erotic Poetry? Either that one, or Love Poems.


End file.
